


Something Special

by ghostnebula



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Awkward first dates, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostnebula/pseuds/ghostnebula
Summary: O'Hanrahan's been sweet on Six since as long as he can remember - and now he's finally got the chance to ask this fella out on a date. Or... well, try to, anyway.Originally written for the Fallout Kink Meme.





	

New Vegas is nothing like the stories.

O’Hanrahan heard plenty of tales about the Strip from his comrades who’d gone there for a bit of R&R. They talked about the fancy girls and handsome boys, the dazzling display of lights, and opulence the likes of which they hadn’t seen before. ‘Course, now that he was at the Strip himself, he’s noticing that they’d glossed over more than a few details. They never really mentioned the Securitrons swarming like cazadors, or the greenhorn recruits on their first big night out being sick in the streets.

But, regardless, the glitz and the glamour is still enough to take O’Hanrahan’s breath away.

If anyone were to look at him, they’d assume he’s a typical typical tourist on their first visit; eyes wide, mouth agape, head swivelling as he tries and fails to take everything in at once. Truth is, though, he’s looking around with a purpose. He’s standing watch on the street outside the Lucky 38, his eyes darting between the gates surrounding the Strip as he searches the crowd, waiting to spot one fella in a sea of dozens.

And then, there he is, standing a half-foot taller than most of the folks milling ‘round the entrance. He’s got his head bowed, deep in conversation with a robed woman at his side, and the brim of his hat is casting a long shadow over his face, but it’s still unmistakably him.

“Hey!” O’Hanrahan waves his arm and calls out. “ _Hey!_ Hey there, Six!”

Courier Six whips round, alarmed, ‘til he spots the person calling his name. 

“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” he says, relief settling around his face as he walks up the street. “What brings you here?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” O’Hanrahan says, mock casual, as though he hasn’t been waiting here most of the afternoon. 

He’d gone around Freeside all morning, asking the locals if they’d seen anyone matching Six’s description. Didn’t have much luck until one of the Followers doctors - a tall guy with blonde hair as short as his patience - said that if one were so desperate for the courier’s company and had time to wait around, they could typically catch Six making his way to the Lucky 38 ‘round sunset.

Six is standing in front of O’Hanrahan now and, there’s no real nice way to put it, but he’s seen better days since the last time they’d talked. His nose has been broken again and his already-greying hair is a bit more salt than pepper. But he’s looking fit, healthy, his dark skin tanned a rich brown from all his time in the sun. He’s still got a warmth about him, an energetic glow, and when he flashes a big broad grin in O’Hanrahan’s direction it’s enough to make him forget the clever lines he spent all day rehearsing. 

He stands there, mouth open and mind moving like molasses, ‘til Six takes pity on him and fills the awkward silence with introductions.

“You’ve met Veronica, right?” he asks, and the woman by his side extends her hand for him to shake. “Really is funny running into you here, seein’ as how we were just up near Golf a few days ago. I thought we should pop in, see how y’all are doing, but things got in the way. You know how it is.”

O’Hanrahan nods, though he really has no idea what Six spends most of his time doing. He’s too busy thinking back to the first time Six had paid a visit to Camp Golf. He blew in like a dust devil and shook up O’Hanrahan’s troop, transforming them into a well-oiled machine almost overnight. No tricks, no cheats; he just came ‘round the camp and talked to everyone about communication and teamwork. And, miraculously, it worked.

O’Hanrahan wasn’t the bragging sort but that had been his idea. He pitched it to Six, half-expecting him to laugh him out of the tent, but he was surprisingly receptive. ‘Course it wasn’t a bad idea in itself, but O’Hanrahan couldn’t make it work. It only came to life when Six put his own spin on it; talking to the others with his smooth-as-honey voice and laying the charm on as thick as mutfruit jam. 

Courier Six is one of those fellows who’s gifted in the art of talking. He radiates charisma, got a way with words that makes O’Hanrahan’s head spin. He could charm the very sun out of the sky if he were so inclined. 

The first time he turned that syrupy rich voice on O’Hanrahan, he blamed the fact that he’d just finished basic training for the flush in his cheeks and the way his breath caught in his chest. Thought it was a one-time thing, ‘til Six swung by Golf and it happened again. And again. It wasn’t until later one night when O’Hanrahan was lying in his bunk, still thinking about the way Six slung his arm around his shoulder n’ pulled him close after he’d done an exceptional job at basic a few days ago, did he realise that he was completely head over heels. 

“But, how about that, we ended up running into you here anyway,” Six continues, then chuckles to himself. “Destiny.”

Yessir, it was indeed like destiny. O’Hanrahan made up his mind a few days ago, that he was gonna take this opportunity to meet with Six and tell him how he really felt. Or at least ask him out to dinner. It’s fate that brought them together today and he’s not going to let this opportunity slip out of his hands. He’s gotta do what he came here to do.

O’Hanrahan wipes his palms on his pants, surprised to find them so sweaty. “I was wondering,” he says, quickly clearing his throat to stop the words from sticking in it, “that is, if you’re not too busy, if you and I could, uh, maybe... have a chat?”

“Sure.” Six leans back, crossing his arms. “What’s on your mind?”

_Ah, hell._ “I-I didn’t mean right this second exactly, but...”

He runs a hand through his hair, stiff with pomade, and glances at Veronica who’s looking between him and Six and beaming as though they’re putting on a show for her amusement. 

“Aw, no need to be shy in front of me,” she says, picking up on his hesitance and giving him a gentle chuck on the shoulder with her fist.

Six sighs gently and slides his pack off his shoulders. “Hey, Vee,” he says, passing her the bag and nodding in the direction of the Lucky 38, “you go on n’ head inside. Start unpackin’ our things. I’ll be with you in a few.”

Veronica shakes the bag and its contents clatter together enticingly. “Does that mean I get first pick of the good stuff?” 

“Fine, fine,” he says, smiling and shaking his head. Veronica gives them a wave and heads up the stairs, already unzipping the bag and starting to paw through what’s inside. “Now, where were we?”

“I, uh.” O’Hanrahan swallows thickly, feels his resolve drying up faster than a dead gecko in the midday sun. 

“Heh. Y’know, I almost didn’t recognise you out of your uniform,” Six says, motioning to O’Hanrahan’s civvies.

“Oh, really?” O’Hanrahan resists the urge to hold out his hands n’ pose like he’s a kid showing off a new outfit to his mama. It’s nothing fancy, really; just his cleanest shirt and a pair of nice slacks he’s had sitting at the bottom of his trunk for ages, waiting for a special occasion. 

“Yeah. You look good,” Six says, and when he smiles O’Hanrahan’s stomach flips over.

“Y-you too,” he says, gazing firmly at the ground as if he’s talking to Six’s shoes. “Anyway, what I meant earlier was that perhaps you and I could... go somewhere. For a talk. O-or somethin’ else?”

“Something else? Like what?” Six asks, with a tone that suggest he knows exactly what.

O’Hanrahan glances up at catches Six’s eye. Six is watching him, a curious smile on his lips, rubbing his whiskery chin with a finger as though he’s studying the fellow in front of him.

“Like... oh, I dunno.” The scrutiny's making warmth rush to O’Hanrahan’s face again and he glances away. “I mean, a fella like you probably has all sorts of commitments so if you’re too busy, I understand completely, but...”

Six grins. “C’mon, out with it.”

“I was thinking, uh, maybe I could buy you a drink?” The words are out of his mouth before he can register them and in the second of silence that follows, he scrambles to tack on an addendum. “A-as a gesture of thanks, for helpin’ out with my troop the way you did n’ all.”

Six takes a few steps closer so he can clap O’Hanrahan on the shoulder with his hand, large and warm. “I’d be delighted.”

O’Hanrahan exhales, almost dizzy with relief, as Six runs his arm along his shoulders and starts to guide him to the other end of the Strip. 

“I know a place.”

* * * * *

The diner in Vault 21 is packed and bustling, humming with the energy of all these tourists eager to check out the authentic vault experience. The vault’s nice but O’Hanrahan can’t really say he’s a fan. Something about the small metal rooms, the thought of all that dirt above his head. Doesn’t sit well with him, makes him kinda fidgety. But Six seems at ease, strolling in like he owns the place and finding them a nice quiet booth by the wall, away from the old speakers pumping out tinny music. He calls over the waitress, orders a couple of steaks and a couple of drinks, and O’Hanrahan starts to relax, easing back into the squeaky vinyl of his chair.

The place is nothing fancy but O’Hanrahan’s glad he picked a cozy little venue like this. Woulda stuck out like a sore thumb if they’d gone to the Ultra-Luxe. He poked his head in there earlier today n’ felt so underdressed compared to the other folks he might as well have strolled in there naked and covered in mud. 

“I know it’s not much,” Six says, as if he can tell what O’Hanrahan’s thinking, “but it’s nice enough. I’m on the road a lot so I don’t always get to do somethin’ special like this. Y’know, get a nice cooked meal and eat it indoors.” 

The chatter of the other patrons is noisy, thrumming, but Six’s smooth voice rises easily above the din. That’s not to say he’s too loud or anything, but when O’Hanrahan finishes telling him an anecdote about the time a coupla mirelurks tried to make a nest in one of the tents and how it got stuck on ‘em when they tried to flee, Six throws back his head and his booming laughter makes a couple of the other diners turn and stare. O’Hanrahan ducks his head, bashful, but truth be told he kind of likes the fact that people are looking. Makes him feel special, having people notice that he’s on a date with the enigmatic charismatic Courier Six.

But _is it_ a date, though? That’s what he still can’t quite figure out. It’s sure what he _intends_ this evening to be, but he’s replaying his mush-mouthed invitation over in his mind and he’s just not sure he was clear enough. Ain’t that just the way? The one time he works up the courage to ask Six out on a date and he goes and makes a real hash of it. But the night’s still young. Plenty of time to turn it around. 

The waitress brings over their meals and he shelves those thoughts for the moment. After all, it’s hard to make your romantic inclinations known through a mouthful of medium-rare Brahmin steak. They eat in silence for a little while, and he thinks about how nice it is to enjoy the small pleasure of a well-cooked dinner spent in good company. Good, albeit messy company. Six’s got a habit of talking with his mouth full that O’Hanrahan knows his mama wouldn’t approve of. But while she did raise him right, he isn’t the persnickety sort so Six’s manners - or lack thereof - don’t bother him none.

All thoughts of table manners fly out the window when O’Hanrahan reaches for the salt at the exact time Six does. Their hands brush and sparks race up his arm, and it’s almost enough to make the clipped hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Good God, but he’s got it bad. He’s as smitten as anything. Six catches his eye and smiles, the crow’s feet around his eyes bunching up. A warm flush creeps up O’Hanrahan’s neck and he stares down at the table, busying himself by cutting up his steak with a fervour. 

That was a sign, it had to be. ‘Course, O’Hanrahan’s been out of the game for a while. Last proper date he went on was when he was a few months shy of eighteen with the sweet dark-haired boy who lived the next farm over. That was years and years ago, who knows what sort of advancements have been made in the world of signs n’ signals. Plus, it’s just... really hard to tell with Six. He’s always so gosh-darn friendly to everyone. Maybe touching hands n’ smiling is just good manners where he comes from.

Six’s knee brushes against O’Hanrahan’s under the table and he pulls it back, giving the fella more legroom. It’s kinda funny; he didn’t think these booths were that small yet Six’s leg’s been nudging his all night. It makes sense, though - Six is a bit taller and broader than he is, his muscular frame easily taking up half the booth chair - so perhaps he does need a little more space. The side of Six’s boot rubs against O’Hanrahan’s and he scoots it out of the way. Always be courteous, that’s just how he was raised. 

Six chuckles to himself, looking bemused. He leans back in his chair, draping his thick arm along the back, and watches as O’Hanrahan twirls a bottlecap between his fingers. O’Hanrahan’s been quiet for a while - he used up all his interesting anecdotes before they’d even finished their first beers so now he’s fiddling with the cap, trying to think of something interesting to talk about that doesn’t revolve around the NCR, his troops, the NCR, how training’s going, or the NCR.

“You know,” Six says, breaking the silence, “there’s somethin’ I’ve gotta ask.”

O’Hanrahan swallows, throat dry. “What?”

Six’s half-smile gives way to a full-blown grin. “Did you ever write to your mama and tell her you met me?”

“Oh, jeez.” O’Hanrahan ducks his head, cheeks flushing as red as the bottlecap he’s toying with. “I was hopin’ you didn’t remember that.”

Six hoots with laughter, clapping his hand against the table. “How could I _forget_? That was ‘bout the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

The dim atmospheric lighting in the diner is a blessing, as O’Hanrahan feels heat rush to his cheeks. He’s hoping his face isn’t as cherry pink as he feels it is. Six is still chuckling weakly, looking at him with such fondness that it makes something warm and bright start gleaming in O’Hanrahan’s chest.

“I did write her, actually,” he says, smiling when Six lets out a _hah!_ “But she lives out west a ways and all the tales of your derring-do haven’t really made it out that far. I think my letter was a little lost on her, but she did say you sounded like a real swell fella.”

“Ah, precious.” Six sighs, shaking his head. “If that ain’t just about the sweetest thing I ever heard...” 

Speaking of doing nice things... a thought pops into O’Hanrahan’s mind and lodges there, unshakeable, ‘til it’s the only thing he can think about.

“Actually,” O’Hanrahan says, twirling the bottlecap around on the table, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, too.”

Six reaches for a toothpick and clamps it between his teeth. “Shoot.”

He runs his tongue across his lips. “Why... why’d you listen to me way back when? A-about the Misfits? I mean, Mags’ idea was just as good. More practical, actually, if you think about it.”

From the way Six’s eyebrows raise, that’s not the direction he expected the question to go in. He leans forward, crossing his arms and resting them on the table, tutting to himself as he thinks, his toothpick wiggling up and down. 

“Well,” he says, after a pause, “both your ideas had merit but... I dunno. Took a shine to you, I guess. I run into a lot more cheats n’ liars than I’d like. Not used to seein’ your kind as much. Y’know, someone who values good ol’ human niceness. It’s refreshing, and I s’pose I just wanted to take a chance on that. Turns out, I was right to listen to ya.”

“O-oh.” He swallows, feels himself go a bit pink ‘round the ears.

Six sits back, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Actually, you kinda remind me of my partner.”

The bottlecap O’Hanrahan’s playing with spins away from him, skitters across the table, and drops onto the floor. _Ah, hell!_ The one variable he hadn’t planned for. But of course, it was so obvious. As if a fella as sweet as Six hadn’t already met someone to treat him right. 

“So, what’re they like?” O’Hanrahan asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as forced-casual as he thinks it does. “Your partner, I mean.” 

“He’s a nice fella. You’d like him.” Six nods, gnawing on the end of his toothpick. “Bit of a sourpuss though. Keeps wanting me to come back, help out with the tannery. But I’ve left that life behind, you know? I told him, I _said_ you can buy me out of the business, that suits me just fine, but after that I’m off. Don’t expect me to come back when you can’t cut it on your own.”

“Oh, he’s your _business_ partner! I thought y--” He cuts himself off abruptly. Six is looking at him intently, an unreadable look in his eyes, and O’Hanrahan reaches for his beer, hands fumbling, taking a long swig in a very poor attempt to look calm.

“Thought what? Thought I was talking about my betrothed?” Six raises his eyebrows, his mouth twitching in a smile, as he leans forward and places one of his large callused hands atop O’Hanrahan’s own. He winks. “Thought maybe you missed your chance with me, huh?”

As soon as Six places his hand on O’Hanrahan’s, he inhales a mouthful of beer and chokes, sputtering, beer suds stinging his nose. Six presses a wad of napkins into his hands, chuckling softly and amazingly not looking put off by this embarrassing display. O’Hanrahan’s so mortified he wishes his chair would disappear so he could sink into the dirt below, but he should be so lucky. 

“Easy, easy,” Six says, as O’Hanrahan coughs weakly into the napkins. “Deep breaths. Look, I’m awfully sorry if I’ve gone n’ misread the situation. I guess I just assumed from your invite that you were... y’know, interested. But, I admit, I had some doubts when you didn’t seem really, uh, receptive.”

“What...” O’Hanrahan clears his throat, windpipes now clear of beer, and thumps his chest with his fist for good measure. “What do you mean, receptive?”

Six raises an eyebrow and gently runs his foot up along the inside of O’Hanrahan’s shin. 

“Oh. _Oh!_ That was-- oh, you were doin’ that on purpose!” O’Hanrahan claps his hand to his forehead, incredulous. “I didn’t know you were-- I mean, I thought you didn’t have enough legroom. I was just tryin’ to make some space for you!” 

Six throws back his head and laughs. “Lord! You’re a real gentleman, aren’t ya?”

O’Hanrahan feels his face flushing, all the way to the tips of his ears. “But no, I, uh, I... you’re right, I definitely am... _interested_.” He nods. “V-very much so.”

“Well, that is good to know.” Six smiles, and there’s an wistful look to it. “Honestly, I’m glad it was you who asked me out. If it was left up to me, I never woulda plucked up the courage.”

O’Hanrahan blinks. If he passed out while choking on his beer and this is just an elaborate dream, he’s gonna be real mad about it when he comes to. 

“What do you mean by that?” he asks. 

Six averts his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He almost looks bashful. Courier Six, Mister Charisma, looking _bashful_. O’Hanrahan never thought he’d see the day when Six looked lost for words.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask you out for ages,” Six explains, and he huffs through his nose. “You never wondered why I kept swinging past Golf? You think I visited just to take in the view?”

“Well, the lake is awful pretty. But, no, it never occurred to me,” O’Hanrahan says, shaking his head. “I just thought it was because of your allegiance to the NCR and your dedication to helpin’ us ensure our success against the Legion.”

Six gets an odd look on his face, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. “... Sure.” 

There’s an odd silence ‘round the table now that they’ve laid their intentions out, as bare as their dinner plates. O’Hanrahan picks at the damp label of his beer bottle as his mind stalls, the gears of his brain jamming together, trying and failing to think of something to do now. He doesn’t know what to say. Honestly, he never expected to get this far.

Six drops his chewed-up toothpick into his empty beer bottle and slowly, as if to not scare off a skittish animal, reaches across the table so he can put his large rough hand on O’Hanrahan’s again. His breath hitches but he doesn’t choke this time. Instead, he puts his other hand on top of Six’s, palm resting gently across his knuckles. Six’s mouth twitches and he moves to place his hand on top of O’Hanrahan’s but as soon as he gets within range, O’Hanrahan slips his hand out from underneath and covers it instead, so he’s got both Six’s hands sandwiched between his own. 

Six pulls his hands away, laughing.

“What?” O’Hanrahan chuckles. “You never played that game with your siblings? You gotta be quick.”

“I’m an only child,” he says, and shakes his head. He looks at O’Hanrahan, really drinks him in, gazing at him with such fondness. “You know, you really are somethin’ special.”

O’Hanrahan ducks his head, cheeks red, muttering a chorus of _nah naw haha no way naw_.

“I mean it,” he says. Even though his features are rough - broken and scarred and weather-worn - there’s a genuine softness to his face, a gentleness about him that’s almost unexpected. “I’ve met a lot of folks in my time and there’s very few out here like you. You’re one in a million.”

“Oh, wow, uh. Th-thank you. That... that really means a lot, comin’ from you.” 

‘Thanks’ seems like such a small sentiment for how he feels, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He was terrible with words - he could never find the right ones and on the rare occasion that he did, they just slipped through his hands. Even if you gave him a dictionary and a hundred hours to figure out exactly what he needed to say, he couldn’t.

He wants to tell Six the same thing, that he’s so unlike any fella he’s ever met before. That he’s never felt his heart pound around anyone like it does when he sees Six. That no one else took a chance on him, actually listened to his ideas about basic human kindness and _respected_ them. He’d felt so honoured back then, that a big ol’ hero like Six trusted his judgement. It made him wanna do better, be better, stick to his convictions in spite of it all. But how do you get all that across with _words_? He can’t, he knows he can’t, so he’s gonna do the next best thing. 

O’Hanrahan stands up, leans across the small table, and cups Six’s face in his hand. He hesitates for a moment, waits for Six to pull away, but when he doesn’t he closes the distance between them and kisses him, softly and sweetly. 

The diner’s still busy, there’s bound to be folks watching, but he doesn’t care. Let them stare. As far as he’s concerned, there ain’t no world outside of this booth. 

Six moves into the kiss, moving up to reach O’Hanrahan better. It can’t be comfortable, half-standing in the tiny diner chair, but neither of them seem to care about that. O’Hanrahan’s the first one to pull away, still holding Six’s head in his hands, breath skittering across his cheeks, staring into his deep warm brown eyes. He lets go and slowly slumps back down in his chair, his heart thudding in his ears. 

“Well, well, well,” Six says, with a small wink, “thank _you _.”__

__Their waitress from earlier passes by their table as soon as they sit down, almost as if she’d been waiting for them to finish, and gathers up their plates, telling them that the kitchen’s closing in fifteen so if they have any last orders then now’s the time._ _

__“I think that’s our cue to leave, actually,” Six says, digging in his pockets until he pulls out enough caps for a generous tip._ _

__O’Hanrahan slides out of the booth first and extends his hand out to Six. “Shall I walk you home?”_ _

__“Ever the gentleman,” Six says with a chuckle, taking O’Hanrahan’s hand and letting himself get pulled to his feet. When he’s up, he slings a broad arm around O’Hanrahan’s shoulder and pulls him close, kissing him on the cheek, his whiskers scratching against soft skin._ _

__“I’d be delighted.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Fallout Kink Meme](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6099.html?thread=14901203#t14901203).
> 
> the footsie thing may or may not have been based on a real experience wherein it took me until a year later to realise someone was being flirty-playful and not steppin on my feet by mistake :U oops


End file.
